The Great Unwashed, Now 300% More Awesome

Not really. But I did just put up a “Praise Page” so you can see what everyone has been saying about The Great Unwashed.

And by everyone I mean four people. Well two and a half really, but that’s only because Roscoe wasn’t cooperating and telling me how fabulous I was. He kept going on about how I ate the good parts of his dinner the other day.

I’m counting my mother’s comment as the half, she used a nice word in it. The fact that it was a question and didn’t relate to my writing at all is completely irrelevant.

Anyway, make sure to check out the new “Praise Page” to find out what People Magazine* said about my blog.

English: Oprah Winfrey at the White House for ...

I would hold her hand while she talked about loving me and much as her new lime green Vespa.(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

*Not the People Magazine that you see in the stores at the checkout counter, the one that I made while sitting at home thinking about how much I want Oprah to love me.

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The Art Of Being A Good Wife

A photo of a pizza with peppers

This is what Roscoe’s pizza looked like coming out of the oven. Not really, we buy the inexpensive frozen kind. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Roscoe arrived home yesterday after a long day of stitching peoples’ bits back on. My husband spends some eighty hours a week doing this. I’m beginning to think that people are careless with where they put their bits. Also I’m debating petitioning the city to outlaw augers, axes, and possibly lawnmowers.

Anyways being the excellent wife I am, I had made him dinner.

The Great Unwashed : I made you pizza, it’s in the kitchen.

Roscoe looking very tired from putting people’s bit back on : Thank you.

Roscoe goes into the kitchen, pauses then marches back out holding a red, ragged circle of dough.

Roscoe : What is this?

The Great Unwashed : It’s pizza. It was pepperoni pizza but then I denuded it of the pepperonis because I ate one and I just couldn’t stop. Then I took a couple of bites out of the crust because you know how much I love the crust. In my defense there wasn’t a whole lot of cheese on it to begin with because it’s the cheap no name frozen brand. But I left the rest for you.

Roscoe looks down at the dough which is mostly circular but for a few bites around the edge.

Roscoe : So you made me a circle of bread smeared with tomato sauce.

The Great Unwashed : Yes. Because I love you.

Roscoe looks annoyed.

The Great Unwashed : Haven’t you heard the saying “It’s the thought that counts”?

Letters From Exile: Biting Screeching Jet Lag

I’m writing this from exile. Roscoe told me not to come home until I am nice. Yesterday I traveled for sixteen hours. Ten of those hours were spent on a plane. My family’s nickname for me is “Bitey Scratchy” because I’ve been known to behave like a feral cat when I’m jet lagged.

To those of you who have never had the joy of taking in a wild animal, feral cats are nice sometimes, specifically when you are giving them things that they want like food, the rest of the time their hobbies consist of leaving puncture wounds in exposed skin and hissing.

Once when my father was away on a business trip I brought a feral cat into my parent’s house. It seemed like an excellent idea at the time. The cat was crotchety and disagreeable, I was crotchety and disagreeable. We were terrific roommates. And then my parents returned. And I left. The feral cat didn’t.

For the most part Oliver* is a good cat now. She only bites when she’s annoyed which is often but she lets out a low warning growl beforehand. And really she doesn’t bite very hard. Not that it matters, after the first couple of times the whole family got rabies shots.

Anyway, following spending an entire day in transit I behave like Oliver. To add insult to teeth imprinted injury, jet lag also seems to affect my thought patterns. I’ve spent the past two days wandering about pretending to be Andre Leon Talley**.

This is unnerving for two reasons. The first is that no matter how convincingly I stagger around screeching “There’s a FAMINE of beauty. A famine!” or talk about wearing my hand made underpants in Karl Lagerfeld’s vacation house, in no way do I resemble the 6’7 two hundred and fifty pound fashionista.

Andre Leon Talley

Try as I might no one has ever mistaken me for this man.  (Photo credit: Museum at FIT)

The second is that my parents have never heard of Andre Leon Talley so they become just a little more concerned with each successive impression. I overheard them talking about Bellevue in the living room and I don’t think they were discussing Diana’s old apartment in Kensington Village. Roscoe who has seen this behaviour in action told me that I’m to stay with my parents until I am normal(ish) again.

So effectively I’ve been exiled. It sounds worse than it really is ; they feed me well here although I do find my parent’s habit of wearing dog catcher’s body padding unnerving.

*Oliver is a girl cat. We like to do that here, give our girl pets boy’s names. There’s just not enough confusion in this world and one should always keep one’s vet on their toes. It’s not enough to simply throw your newly acquired feral cat into the room with an animal care professional and close the door, it’s really best to complicate things by saying “Oh our cat George had kittens last week.”

** Andre Leon Talley is one of the contributing editors to Vogue magazine. I adore watching and listening to him, the only thing larger than his body is his personality. He once filled an entire ballroom with one joke. When I grow up I am going to be Mr. Leon Talley. Or maybe not, because that might make Roscoe Anna Wintour, or would it make him Grace Coddington? Regardless, I don’t think Roscoe would like either of those options.

Man Jobs; Like Hacking Up Bears With Axes And Moving Heavy Things

So a couple weeks ago Roscoe was sitting on the couch and I stood directly in front of him. This is generally a sign that I’m going to ask him to do a man job. Man jobs in our house are classified as tasks that require power tools or lifting. It’s not that I can’t use power tools or lift things, the trouble is I don’t want to, so essentially that means that I won’t.

According to the PC Authority site this is both a power tool and an ax. Which makes it a man job squared equaling one shopping trip for unnecessary things that make me feel pretty in a marriage.( Photo Credit: http://www.pcauthority.com.au/News/280159)

According to the PC Authority site this is both a power tool and an ax. Which makes it a man job squared equaling one shopping trip for unnecessary things that make me feel pretty in a marriage.( Photo Credit: http://www.pcauthority.com.au/News/280159)

So there I am standing in front of Roscoe with a look on my face that those closest to me know is generally followed by a lot of grief on their part. Roscoe looks up and is not happy. This may be partially because he doesn’t want to use power tools or lift things (I know I never want to) but I suspect it’s because he’s still annoyed at me for dying his feet purple this past weekend.

In my defense, it was only part of his feet, the soles specifically and I also dyed my arms a bright violet up to the elbows, along with the majority of our bathroom. I had neglected to clean the tub before Roscoe needed to shower and hence, purple feet.

The Great Unwashed with a most innocent and endearing look on her face –“I dropped a book behind the bookshelf.”

Roscoe not being taken in by the seemingly angelic face The Great Unwashed is making –“What kind of book?”

The Great Unwashed –“A book I don’t want to read.”

Roscoe now returns his focus to his computer. The Great Unwashed continues to stand in front of him with a look of unconvincing sweetness on her face. Roscoe, realizing that this issue may not be over sighs and closes his laptop.

The Great Unwashed– “It may have been a library book.” Pauses. “ That’s overdue.” Pauses again as Roscoe starts to frown. “ By a lot.”

Roscoe sighing heavily and with a note of resignation – “Which bookshelf?”

The Great Unwashed– “The smaller one.”

Now I knew that the book wasn’t behind the smaller one, but I was hoping that if Roscoe moved the smaller one he might be able to reach the book I dropped behind the larger one without having to move it.

Roscoe grunts and complains about my choice of storage places for my library books but in a couple of minutes he moves the smaller bookshelf, reaches behind and hands me a hardcover.

The Great Unwashed – “Thank you, but that’s not my book, although this is another library book.” Roscoe is looking unimpressed at this point.

Roscoe– “That’s the only one behind there.”

The Great Unwashed in the most innocent manner possible– “It *might* have fallen behind the big bookshelf.”

More grunting. Annoyance in now radiating off of Roscoe from the top of his head down to his purple soled feet.

Finally, Roscoe with more than a hint of annoyance in his voice- “There are no books behind here.”

The Great Unwashed – “Oh. Oops!”

The book that I supposedly dropped turned up the next day. It was stuck in between the bedside table and the box spring. However three weeks ago I remember dropping two things behind the larger bookshelf. I blame the invisible house gnomes for moving one of my library books without asking permission. As for Roscoe the purple eventually washed off however he was forced to wear black socks and shoes for about two weeks to cover up the colour. I told him it was the price of being married to a beautiful, resourceful woman. (I was dying a shirt to give it a new lease on life.) He told me that I was a pain in the butt.

The Life’s Goal Of Every Sixteen Year Old- To See As Much Elderly, Wrinkled Skin As Possible

Once upon a time when my butt lived further north and I thought that shoes were something you wore for fine dining, I was a lifeguard. That means that I have spent an inordinate amount of time in pools. But I’ve spent an even greater amount of time watching people in water, specifically older people.

For three summers I sat next to pools in condo complexes and in between slathering approximately 16 litres of sunscreen on my skin, I catalogued the patrons’ behaviours.

The Three Main Types of Adult Pool Swimmers

The Noodle Group

Age: Mid forties to approximately three thousand and a half years old

Bathing Suit: A one piece with something to cover their hair for women.  The men generally sport long trunks and enough gray chest hair to make a sizeable throw rug.

two very fat men

These men decided to spice it up by floating on the noodles. (Photo credit: Max Nathan)

Swim Style: Don’t be fooled by their polka dot flotation devices, these people are not here to have fun. In fact if hit by a rogue splash from a nearby game they will start talking about the “good ol’ days” when the strap was used and you could openly shout at someone else’s children. The Noodle Group’s favourite thing to do is stand in the pool for hours on end. This is not so much a way of swimming as a way of creating human shaped obstacles for the next group of swimmers because the Noodle Group must always stand in the very centre of the pool.

The Getting In Shape For Their Vacation Crowd

Age: Anywhere from thirty to late forties

Bathing Suit: Any type of suits, these fitness minded people can be recognized by the presence of their Gatorade bottle and the way they swagger onto the deck as though they are going to “own” the water.

Swim Style: Their swim begins with a dive despite the many signs posted in the area dictating “Shallow Water, NO Diving”. After surfacing and a short chat with the lifeguard The Getting In Shape Crowd take off from the wall like they’re in a high speed chase. Once this crowd reaches the opposite side of the pool they pop their heads out of the water and take a loud, deep breath as though an invisible assailant had just stopped choking them. This routine continues for approximately five lengths at which point The Getting In Shape Crowd will rest their elbows on the wall and smugly watch The Noodle Group stand around. The previous performance will be repeated two to four times at which point The Getting In Shape Crowd will climb out of the pool and ask the lifeguard for the time. Without fail they will always be stunned at how little time has passed since they got into the pool. Regardless, after mentally patting themselves on the back they’ll call it a day.

Genuine, Bonafide  Swimmers

Age: Twenties to thirties. Actually I have no idea, I’ve never seen one of these people.

Bathing Suit: According to lifeguard lore these athletes appear in Speedos or an equally high quality swimsuit company brand. 

Swim Style: They jump into the pool, swim at a confident, even speed around the Noodle Group and the erratic Getting In Shape Crowd. The Genuine Swimmers continue this way for quite some time and then leave the pool area in a flash of terry cloth and Coppertone SPF 30. In the world of condo pool lifeguarding these swimmers are like Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny; you just have to believe they exist.

As much joy as I took from watching the various kinds of swimmers the purpose of my job was to watch for the types of drowners. I will be covering some of those in an upcoming post.

Neil Patrick Harris Turned Me Down Again Then Asked Me To Stop Calling Him. But This Is Still An Awards Show.

In my estimation of when I would put up this post, I allotted for the time change and for travel however what I neglected to consider was after arriving at my vacation destination at one am Sunday morning, Ontario time was that when I awoke I wouldn’t be able to piece together a sentence much less be able to edit. So I apologize sincerely for the lateness of this post.

Air travel. Many lines, lots of sitting and you feel like you’ve been hit by a Mack truck afterwards. For whatever reason no one from the travel industry has approached me to advertise on my site.

“Travel like The Great Unwashed; Walk around the corner and then call it a day!”

Normally that is my version of traveling, however it’s been a year since I stepped foot onto an airplane and much like child birth, I forgot the pains associated with it.

Moving on.

So ages and ages ago Erica Funi of Finding The Funi nominated me for the Liebster award. I posted the first of the four steps two posts ago but the next steps in the award are choosing ten bloggers, posing ten questions to ten bloggers and then finally putting up the Liebster award logo.

Without further adieu, my questions.

The Great Unwashed’s questions to ten talented bloggers.

  1. If you had to choose between Anna Karenina, War and Peace and Steve Martin’s acclaimed novella “Shopgirl” which book would be the best weapon in a bar fight?
  2. What is the longest period you’ve ever gone without bathing? Please note, stays in Turkish prisons do not count.
  3. You’ve decided to take on three additional husbands and or wives, who are they? Both living and dead people may be included, although admittedly an attraction to the deceased is a little beyond me.
  4. What is your most unfortunate public transportation story?
  5. Go back in time, you’re attempting to sell your five year old sibling, what is your asking price?
  6. In a bid to secure the Guinness World Record for “Longest and Highest Transport of Tom Cruise” you’ve decided to piggyback this superstar across the Andes. What phrase do you repeat to yourself during the tough parts of the trek to spur yourself onwards when Tom’s pointy hip bones are digging into your spine?
  7. What do you consider to be a valid reason for a hunger strike?
  8. Name three items you hide from your spouse or significant other or even better, yourself.
  9. Where are the hiding places for these items? Wait! Don’t tell me, I’m a terrible secret keeper.
  10. How do you feel about my interviewing skills? Will they make Oprah love me?
Isn't it the most swanky pants logo you've ever seen? It doesn't even matter that it's writing's version of a participation ribbon.

Isn’t it the most swanky pants logo you’ve ever seen? It doesn’t even matter that it’s writing’s version of a participation ribbon.

The ten bloggers that I nominated are as follows;

1. The Byronic Man– Sometimes I send The Byronic Man fan mail in the middle of the night. Even though it’s completely incoherent, he makes a point of answering me.  He tells stories using a combination of the written word and stick figure drawings. His stick figures are the most expressive that I’ve seen.
2. Hold The Condiments– Hannah writes a fantastic blog but even better than that when a complete stranger (me) asked for her home address to send fan mail, she gave it out! Mind you she moved directly after that, however I’m certain that the two events are unrelated.
3. Listful Thinking– This is what Hyperbole And  A Half would look like is Ally Brosh made lists rather than Microsoft Paint inspired cartoons. Sometimes I pretend that I’m Stephanie just so that I can claim to be funny, interesting and photogenic.
4. The Good Greatsby– Paul Johnson of The Good Greatsby is my ideal imaginary third husband. He’s suave, debonair, extremely good looking and is excellent at turning a joke. He’ll get along splendidly with my imaginary second wife Martha Stewart. He’s also a blogger for the Huffington Post.

5. Carrie Blueberry– For a period of time Ms. Blueberry represented 66% of my Twitter following. She was gunning to usurp my father of The Great Unwashed’s Superfan title. On occasion she takes self portraits which ooze emotion. I’ve had to wipe joy from my keyboard after gazing at her online photos before. That sounds vaguely dity but it shouldn’t I’ve also dabbed despair from my screen after looking at her work as well. She has a large range of expression.

6. Ways Of Wanderers– I knew Jess before she was a wanderer. No that isn’t true, I knew Jess before she was an international wanderer. There’s a quiet pensiveness to her writing which is impossible to replicate. She’s quite popular and writes about her travels across the world with her boyfriend Brent*.

Side note -Brent is a very nice guy who gives excellent hugs which are longer than the acceptable average embrace length of 7.6 seconds, even if one accounts for a standard error of 1.2 seconds. I figured the world needed to know that. If you see Brent on the street and ask for a hug, you’ll get a good one. Although one probably shouldn’t follow my advice seeing as I’ve now said that i ask for stranger’s addresses and then advise you to hug them.

7. Rant And Roll– Vanessa is the daughter that my Mom meant to have. She runs an hour and thirty minute half marathon without training. This blogger also possesses terrific fashion sense that she displays by wearing really loud pants. Not loud as in pants that shout at you, although I’m sure Vanessa would be a fan of those too, but more in terms of prints.

8. Anna Gay Anna is also a photographer friend of mine. I say friend but really it’s a one sided relationship where I tell her she’s talented and issue complaints about how there are too many pictures of cats in hats on the internet and a dearth of her work.

9. Drinking Tips For Teens– This blog is just as hilarious as it’s title. Ross specializes in satire. Ross is also Canadian which makes him twenty funnier to me. I especially recommend reading him if you are from Quebec.

10. Olivethepeople– This blog is fantastic, Olive wrote a piece that reminded me of Shane Koyczan’s work. Also I like her site because it makes me think of the Olive Garden, even though to my knowledge Olive does not serve mediocre Italian food. She also used to work for Oprah, and as we all know Oprah is synonymous with greatness and I want her to love me. Adoring Olive’s blog is clearly the first step in the Oprah-loving-me process.

Marriage Is For Better Or For Worse; Do Giant Dirt Ice Cubes Go Under Worse?

On the eve of my wedding anniversary, I thought I’d share a conversational excerpt from the past week.

Roscoe arrives home to yet another roast chicken dinner.

Roscoe gestures towards the plate “Again?”

The Great Unwashed “Chicken breasts were half price this week so I bought eight pounds.”

Roscoe surveys the white meat dejectedly “Can you put some in the freezer?”

The Great Unwashed “No, because then there wouldn’t be room for the dirt.”

Roscoe verging on alarmed now and inspecting the apartment for signs of gardening paraphernalia “What dirt?”

The Great Unwashed unperturbed and completely missing the strain in her husband’s voice “The dirt I put in the freezer.”

Roscoe with a note of disbelief “You froze dirt in our freezer?”

The Great Unwashed excitedly “I fit an entire container of it in there!”

Roscoe waits for justification then realizes that it isn’t coming “Um why?”

The Great Unwashed “So that there will be a layer on top of the sand.”

Rosoce “There’s sand in our freezer too?”

The Great Unwashed “Well yeah, what else are the dinosaurs going to rest on?”

DIRT Themed photo

Can be stored next to fudgsicles and adds a distinct earthy flavour to burgers. (Photo credit: Pink Pink)

Roscoe stands still for a moment, not sure what to do now that his wife has converted the place that once housed bananas and expired meat into something that could pass for a playground, “What is wrong with you?”

The Great Unwashed with just a hint of amusement in her voice “Don’t get upset I’ll clean it after, and you knew I was an artist when you married me.”

Roscoe inhales deeply in an attempt to calm himself and starts to eat his fourth chicken dinner of the week. He decides to let the dirt ice cube issue go and move onto other topics. “I couldn’t find the iron this morning do you know where it is?”

The Great Unwashed “Oh, I left it at work, but you wouldn’t want to use it anyway, it’s covered in crayon.”

Roscoe makes the internationally recognized “What the hell?” face. Then remembers that this is what he signed up for three years ago and continues eating his chicken.

Happy Anniversary Roscoe, I love you even if you don’t always love me, and I still think you’re handsome even if there are flecks of crayon on your dress shirts.

 

In The Event Of An Emergency Send Spun Sugar and Large Inflatable Reptiles

When I was a child I was ticked off, absolutely enraged by the fact that there is no new TV in the summer.

And then I stopped watching television so it became a moot point. Recently however, I discovered why there are only poorly made, low budget, reality shows to be found on television during the warm months- no one’s home.

Now my blog was doing pretty well. I have approximately a squillion and a half family members give or take five, who check my blog fairly frequently and a handful of followers who aren’t related to me that also like my work. Then July came, and everyone and their brother went away and the stats for the Great Unwashed tanked harder than Arrested Development’s Nielson ratings. So now the only people reading the Great Unwashed with any sort of regularity are my Mom and Roscoe’s Mom.

Actually Roscoe’s Mom reads it more often than my mother but that’s because Roscoe is a boy which means he doesn’t call his mother to say “Mom! I just watched the news and my inflatable crocodile is underneath the shelf next to the door in the basement if you need it.”

Just an FYI there was a MASSIVE flood in Toronto. My parents live near said giant throbbing metropolis. (That sounds vaguely dirty but is really meant to express my feelings about the city. I think I just made things worse.) Anyway so in the event of a flood I wanted them to know where the pool toys were.

Because that’s what you need in a flood. Pool toys. On a different note, the Red Cross wouldn’t hire me.

Red Cross- A country has just endured a horrible life changing crisis. What do you send?

The Great Unwashed- Cotton candy! I like to eat it when I’m sad about things like my parent’s cats being sick.

English: Pink Cotton candy. Deutsch: Rosa Zuck...

These people are prepared for anything from a child’s birthday party to a earthquake.(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Getting back to the original point of this post – The Great Unwashed is now going into reruns. Not really, but I am re-posting the part one of two Liebster award posts because part two will go up on Saturday. Or Sunday. There’s an issue with me changing time zones on one of those two days and although I’m good at many things, figuring out times in other countries is not one of them. Roscoe even made me up a table so I can figure out what time it is in Ontario while I’m away. Supposedly this will prevent me from calling him at odd hours.

Even still I have no doubt that I’m going to shock him awake at 3 AM while I’m away. He’ll bolt right up in bed hearing his phone ring thinking that he has to dash back to the hospital to prevent someone from bleeding out and it will just be me, calling to tell him about a lizard I saw.

I’m an excellent wife.

On with the reruns. Also I promise, promise part two will actually go up Saturday.

Or Sunday.

Blasted time zones.

Neil Patrick Harris Declined My Offer To Host This Award Post

Posted on June 12, 2013

However the show must go on, and this is an awards show. For me. Just me. Here at The Great Unwashed we are super self involved but we are also about family. Big family. That last sentence may have been foreshadowing. Or it would be if Roscoe would let me have my way. On with the show.

Dear Faithful readers,

The day has finally arrived. I was nominated for an award. Not a big award. More like WordPress’ version of a participation award but gosh darn it, it’s an award. And I’m chuffed.  Now there are multiple steps to follow for this award, so many that I’ve decided to break it into two blog posts.

First you need to acknowledge and thank the person who nominated you. So thank you Erica Funi of  Finding The Funi, I do so appreciate being nominated, I was so thrilled that I called my Mom, who already knew because she went on my site and saw, but didn’t call me because that’s the kind of mother she is. Actually she may have texted me in her excitement, I’ll have to check my phone to see if there is a cryptic “k” from the day that you nominated me. This is my mother’s electronic way of communicating with the world- one indecipherable letter at a time. Sometimes she’ll put a “u” or an “i” in there just to mix it up.

Getting back to the award. Erica is a wonderful writer. She also has a nice smile. And I have it on good authority that she does not smell. Erica, I don’t think I could have written a more winning recommendation if I tried. Thanks again for nominating me, I did my best to answer your questions which was of course the second step in the process.

What is your biggest pet peeve?

People asking about my pet peeves.  No that’s not true, like most people, I love to be questioned about the things that are bothering me. Most recently my biggest pet peeve is Roscoe’s refusal to take a second wife. I’ve gotten into the show “Big Love” of late and the concept of polygamy is really growing on me. I just love the idea of someone else cleaning and grocery shopping and vacuuming. Roscoe claims that I don’t fully understand the idea of multiple spouses.

Car-mel or Car-a-mel?

 

Are they both edible? Yes? Then why are we having this conversation and not eating sweets?

If you could trade places with anyone for a day, who would it be?

I can tell you who it wouldn’t be – my imaginary sister wife. I left her alllll of the laundry. The pile is taller than me, which isn’t saying much, but it’s also taller than Roscoe. I’m going to consider that an accomplishment. We’re out of laundry detergent but I’m sure my imaginary sister wife can take care of that.

What is the last website you visited?

Hold The Condiments. Occasionally I feel it necessary to send windy, rambling messages to other bloggers. Before that I wrote a fan letter to the Byronic Man.

Wait did I answer the question? No matter, moving on.

Toilet paper. Over or under?

Once again, I think you’ve missed the forest for the trees, or in this case the forest for the products of the pulp and paper industry. As long as you have TP, you’re good. Unless of course you have a house full of riotous teenagers and it’s Halloween, in which case you’re probably going to be out of toilet paper shortly. Also you’ll owe your neighbours a cake. I’d hide the eggs before you start baking too.

What was the first concert you went to?

I feel like you don’t want me to answer Raffi.   I’ll go with someone much cooler instead- Hanson.

What is your favorite quote?

MMBop.

Is that not a quote?

MMMBopThey’re definitely cooler.  (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

How do you take your coffee?

In litres, preferably in the morning.

Or in gallons for all my Southern reader friends.

What are you having (or did you have) for dinner tonight?

A sandwich, I was supposed to be making wheatberry salad, but then I started watching “Big Love”, and answering a never ending series of questions.

What is your favorite thing about yourself?

I feel like this is more than eleven questions, or possibly I’m answering more than eleven questions, or maybe it just feels longer because I keep asking questions.

Let’s say my ability to count.

What is your guilty pleasure?

Polygamy, but I haven’t actually done that, I just imagine other women cleaning my house and then making me litres of coffee. So let’s go with eating all of Roscoe’s special yogurt out of the fridge.

Stay tuned for part two of the Liebster award posts. There’s going to be a bar fight.

The Post Where I Talk SMACK About My Dad

My Dad is the reigning Great Unwashed Super Fan. He’s the first to read most posts and he laughs the loudest when I read drafts to him. However it has been brought to my attention that I regularly write nice things about my Dad but have yet to do so about my Mom.

So Mom this post is for you.

The last week of June was a hard one for me. It was extremely busy but more importantly I had to shower FOUR TIMES. I’m going to repeat that last statement so the extent of my hardship can be fully comprehended – I showered FOUR TIMES.

It was awful, I was constantly clean, which made the clothing sniff test much harder because while normal people sniff a shirt and think “Does this smell clean?” I inhale the scent of my worn clothing and think “Does this smell cleaner than me?”

And last week the answer was nearly always “No”.

So I set about regressing to my mean of 2.5 showers a week by not bathing for five days. I arrived at my parent’s house on the fourth day of not showering; pungent but not quite grimy. My curly hair formed tight corkscrews that leapt off my head in all directions and my skin had the glow of a well rested hippie. Please note that although hippies would have you believe their excellent constitution and radiant skin comes from their locally grown, organic only diet, it’s actually from not bathing.

However my Grandmother’s eighty-ninth birthday was the following evening so I had planned to shower then. Before my father was set to return home I jumped in the tub and washed my dirt coated self including my corkscrew curls.

I jumped back out and my hair set about drying immediately, because that’s what short curly hair does- whatever the heck it feels like. And at that moment it felt like drying into perfect tight curls.

Fast forward half an hour, I’ve celebrated my newly washed state by running through my parents’ garden and am now sitting on my mother’s bed with clean, dry, curly hair and freshly dirt-coated feet. My father arrives home from work and sits down on the bed.

Dad- “I was figuring we’d leave in half an hour?”

Mom and The Great Unwashed – “We’re ready.”

Dad looks at The Great Unwashed- “When was the last time you washed your hair?”

The Great Unwashed in an indignant tone that conveys that if this is how she will be treated after showering she may never do so again- “Today!”

Dad – “Oh”

It’s called dirty blonde for a reason.

So that’s my talking smack about Dad post. Only then I turned to my mother and asked “Do I look unkempt?”

To which she replied, “No you look like you.”

Mom, for the record it would be a lot easier if you didn’t write the material for me.

 

Anyway so fast forward to the end of the night when I realize that even after being shoved into white socks and running through wet grass that my feet are still dirty. My father is generally complimentary; he’s the first one to tell me I look pretty or that a dress matches my eyes. I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, and do some further questioning before writing smack about him.

The Great Unwashed perches at the top of the stairs while Dad assembles a midnight snack- “Dad, did you look at my feet before you asked about my hair earlier?”

Dad- “No, why?”

The Great Unwashed now contemplating stewing in her own bodily fluids for eternity again says in a huffy manner “No reason.”

 

 

Apparently I look unwashed even when I’m partially clean. I will never bathe again. Or at least I may not shower until Roscoe threatens grab the garden hose and spray me with it prison style if I don’t grab some soap myself.

Puzzle Shopping

So this post is a little late. I wrote it on Canada’s birthday weekend. That’s right all my international readers, you missed Canada’s birthday. But it’s ok. I don’t know your birthday so I certainly don’t expect you to know mine or my country’s for that matter. Although I do expect you to know about my toe bandaids. They’re amazing and protect the soles of your toes from forming blisters in any type of footwear. These bandaids are so awesome that it doesn’t even matter that I haven’t invented them yet.

 

Roscoe bought me a puzzle for the long weekend.

A bit of information for my non-Canadian friends; around here we take the birth of our nation very seriously, we discount beer, pack kegs onto trucks and then ship our populous to cottages. The ultimate birthday party. Except I wasn’t invited. Roscoe had important doctor studying to do and wanted me out of his hair, hence he bought me the best puzzle in the whole world.

Nederlands: Cupcake Versiering

Not these exact cupcakes but pretty close. More than once I stopped myself from licking the pieces.(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

It featured thirty-nine multicoloured cupcakes. I finished it Monday night just as Roscoe was putting the finishing touches on a set of notes so heavy and cumbersome that they almost match my truck’s snow tires in size and weight.

Buying the world’s best puzzle doesn’t sound like an incredible feat, but it is. Only those who have purchased truly bad puzzles can understand. And tragically, unlike melons, the girls at the checkout won’t tell you when you’ve got a bad one.

 

Buying a Moldy Melon at the Grocery Store

Cashier at the Grocery Store – “Uh Ma’am?”

The Great Unwashed in a high-pitched, slightly panicked voice – “That will wipe right off! Honest.”

Slightly amused but really just tired Cashier at the Grocery Store- “Huh?”

The Great Unwashed who is visibly relieved at this point-“Never mind.”

Cashier at the Grocery Store- “Do you want to go grab another melon? This one is covered in mold.” Holds up a really, really moldy cantaloupe.

The Great Unwashed recoils- “Uuuoollagh, yes.”

 

That’s what happens at the grocery store.

This is what DOESN’T happen at the puzzle store.

Cashier at the Puzzle Store-“Uh Ma’am”

The Great Unwashed – “That food colouring from the slushie will come right out after eight washes. I swear. And it was an accident.”

Cashier at the Puzzle Store looking slightly quizzical – “Pardon me?”

The Great Unwashed- “I mean how can I help you?”

Cashier at the Puzzle Store now very confused and a little suspicious- “This puzzle you’ve chosen was poorly cut. Not only will the pieces stick together when you are trying to separate them but they will also stick together in ways that they shouldn’t so you will think you’ve solved it but have two giant handfuls of green and blue seagrass left over.”

The Great Unwashed- “Oh! Thank you so much.”  Runs to put the poorly cut puzzle back and returns with a different puzzle with brighter colours that is slightly more expensive.

Cashier at the Puzzle Store- “Uh Ma’am?”

The Great Unwashed- “Those Jolly Ranchers were there the whole time- Scout’s honor!”

Cashier at the Puzzle Store- “What?”

The Great Unwashed- “Has anyone told you that you are a valued part of our community today?”

Cashier at the Puzzle Store blinks with a questioning look- “Ma’am you look like the kind of woman who is a GIANT pain in the butt. This puzzle, although fun looking is too easy for you. My guess is that you’ll finish it in under six hours and then I have no idea what you are going to get up to. Think one thousand pieces not five hundred.”

The Great Unwashed-“ Why I AM a giant pain in the butt! My husband tells me so every day!” Grabs the entertaining looking puzzle and heads back towards the shelves. “Duly noted, thank you!”

 

That has never happened to me. Ever. I bring home the worst puzzles and then I either give up from frustration or finish them and cause Roscoe to give up work from the frustration of having me in his hair. However this weekend was the exception. Roscoe bought a colourful, one thousand piece, well cut, difficult, cupcake puzzle. The only thing he heard intermittently all three days was

“I love this puzzle!!!!”

And I did. But now it’s finished, which means the crumby hot air balloon puzzle with washed out colours and pieces that stick all together in ways they shouldn’t, will cover our dining room table.

Someone really ought to invent a puzzle connoisseur or a store where people can go to purchase high end, challenging puzzles in the same manner that you’d buy the contents for fruit salad. Perhaps I shall invent that product rather than continuing with my toe bandaid idea.

Also to all those who sent get well cards- Thank you, I’m feeling much better now. My toe sole blisters have nearly healed.

As well, you might be able to understand from this post why Roscoe has gone around to the food courts in our area and handed out flyers with my face on them with the words “Do Not Sell To This Woman” typed underneath. He accuses me of being a messy eater. I counter that he’s narrow minded and I am merely using the world as my plate. Regardless I’ve noticed an increase in the number of stores in the city which have “No Food At Anytime” signs.